


Focus On The Headline

by ceredonia



Category: Lost Girl (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29691237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceredonia/pseuds/ceredonia
Summary: Dyson and Kenzi close down the bar.*Note: this is not set at a particular time in the show, as it's been years since I've watched it and I honestly don't remember much of the plotlines; I just love D/K as a couple. <3*Also note: I tried a different style/perspective of writing, so if it seems weird, it's only an experiment.
Relationships: Dyson & Kenzi (Lost Girl)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Focus On The Headline

**Author's Note:**

> HEY EVERYONE (if anyone still follows me)
> 
> I AM ALIVE
> 
> I'm so sorry, I literally haven't written in years. A lot has happened in my life. I was randomly inspired last night and needed to get this out. I'm hoping to be struck by some stronger inspiration soon to work on a longer piece eventually.
> 
> This is inspired by Israeli alternative rock music, particularly Full Trunk. Please check out their music. They have a very Cowboy Bebop/Nathaniel Rateliff vibe. This was written while grooving on "Hard Times," "Let's Go," and "Hey Hey." Most of their stuff is in English. :)
> 
> Please also check out Hadag Nahash, they're really fun too, and more rap-based ("Shir Nechama" is a favorite), or "Sa," which is kind of disco/rap). if you're into female indie bands with strummy guitars, check out Jane Bordeaux, she's amazing ("Ma She'chasuv" is great) or Lola Marsh (she has a song used in Better Call Saul ("Something Stupid"), and "Only For A Moment" is really good).
> 
> Okay, anyway, here's a ficlet!

He needs to stop offering to close down the bar.

He really misses the days when that meant drinking until 2am, instead of _literally_. _Closing down_. _The bar_.

A small, much too damp washrag is in his right hand, his left hand is palm-down on the counter that is always vaguely sticky, while streaks of cleaner appear and disappear in small swipes. It’s impossible to get the counter anywhere resembling “clean” after so many centuries of abuse by drunk Fae, but he is doing his best, because that’s what _matters_.

But regardless of how much he scrubs at the ingrained liquid rings of beer and whiskey glasses of yore, he can’t keep his eyes off the scene that unfolds mere feet away. Normally the antics don’t get to him, but the past week has been exhausting _and_ lonely…

…and those _damn petite hips_ are swaying much too intriguingly. No one else is there; she had offered to wipe down tables once the remaining few patrons had gone, and he’d shrugged, not really _accepting_ the offer, but it is preferable to have company, instead of staring off into space. She usually keeps to herself anyway, props her feet up on a booth to read gossip articles on her phone, not actually doing anything to help. Sometimes she asks questions about his work and he answers non-committedly, not really trying to keep her attention.

She has other plans tonight, by his guess.

~

Aha, so _that_ was what it took to get his attention—he was an ass man. Or maybe just generally into dance moves? Either way, the corner of her upper lip curls up into a smirk—which she quickly fights down with a cough, pretends to flick some of her perfectly-straighten raven locks behind her ear. Oh yes, that _is_ a new ear piercing, thank you so much for asking. She’d been saving up for months, and the rounded glittering topaz glinted under the harsh lights strung along the ceiling.

A mistaken, perhaps slightly-drunkenly, misclick on Spotify the other week had landed her on a playlist of international music, and hoping to find some up-and-coming homeland Russian artists, she’d flipped through the songs, recognizing bits and pieces of titles and artist names. One had caught her attention, a bluesy, raspy-voiced Israeli band, singing about needing to “focus on the headline.” A curious click turned into two hours of a rabbit hole on Spotify, finding the rest of their repertoire and becoming immediately obsessed with Israeli alternative rock.

Hey, it’s _good_ to learn things about different countries, right?

It isn’t easy to get his attention (okay, she is lying—it is _super_ easy to get his attention when she wants to piss him off), so she’s been trying different tactics over the past week. Things that haven’t worked: getting _extremely_ drunk and acting sloppy around the bar; telling suggestive jokes punctuated with flirty giggles; sitting at the bar and trying to make small talk (is it _her_ fault his work stories are so _boring_?!); and straight up ignoring him, playing hard to get. Things that have almost worked: nothing. Nothing is working.

Without being able to put her finger on the exact reason, lately D has just seemed… _different_. Maybe he is just being more angsty than usual, but his attitude is giving off a vibe that has worked its way under her walls. Tonight she is determined.

Her phone is tucked safely in her back pocket, Bluetooth buds nestled in her ears, music plays at a moderate volume so that she hears it but she is still aware if someone calls out to get her attention. It had taken more than a few instances of Bo yelling at her while dancing in front of the TV to attain the right balance. Her flat, less-buckle-covered black boots dance across the bar floor, dark-washed skinny jeans tucked inside the totally-not-real-leather, and is rocking a slightly low-cut, navy blue, short-sleeved t-shirt, tucked into the jeans, with a gray, cropped jean jacket layered on top. She looks good and she knows it, especially since her electric-blue highlights have just been redone the week before.

He is _finally looking her way_ , and she pretends not to notice, sways her hips in tune to the music in her ears. For a moment she forgets the real reason she is there and loses herself in the music. She closes her eyes and lets the rhythm take over, cognizant to make sure to pop her ass out a bit every once in a while; she needs to keep his attention, now that she has it.

~

“Seriously?!”

With a quiet grunt of effort (his knee is doing that old-man tweak thing again, he _really_ needs to get that checked out), he hauls himself over the bar counter and lands on the other side. He strides over to her and stops a couple of feet to her left side, waiting for her to notice him.

It takes a minute.

“Hey, D-man, what’s up?” She removes the earbuds, carefully reaches over to the table at her other side to place them on the surface.

“What are you doing?” he asks; his eyebrow quirks up in the annoying way she likes.

“Nothing, just dancing. Am I distracting you?” she replies.

“Yes. I mean…no. I mean…I’m done. We should head out.”

Her lower lip puffs out in a pout, ever so slightly moistened. “Aw, I was getting really into my tunes.”

“I’m tired and need some sleep,” is the gruff response she receives as he starts to walk away.

“But I don’t _want_ to go home yet.” She hears a whine in her tone; _shit_ , that isn’t the intention. Her back straightens in defiance of his stopped stance, and he turns to glare at her.

“I don’t really care.”

A staring contest ensues. His eyes are tired; he really does need the sleep. Her eyes are bright, wide-awake, a hint of mischievousness clouds the ice blue irises.

“Can I ask you a question?”

She shifts her weight to her other leg, bites her lip. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to come over?” He turns his head to the side, just slightly, avoiding her gaze.

“Yes.”

“That was too fast. You don’t need some time to think of a joke or rejection?” Refusing to meet her eyes, he grits his teeth.

“Nope.”

They lock eyes; both know the meaning behind his teasing and her response. He smiles for the first time all day. She smiles in response and reaches over to pick up her earbuds (seriously, she can’t afford to lose another pair).

“Let’s go.” They speak the words at the same time.


End file.
